


Brian and Jimmy Make a Sex Tape

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Priority One Timestamps [1]
Category: Alien (1979), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Omega Roleplay, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Beta Brian, Beta Jimmy, Drugged Sex, Explicit Consent, Fucking Machines, M/M, Mad Science, Mating Cycles/In Heat, POV Alternating, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: “Baby?” Jimmy’s voice eddies in a vacuum. His chuckle echoes as Brian nuzzles his arm. “Feeling good?”Yes,Brian wants to say.Yes, I’m feeling orchestrally glorious. I never knew precisely how much skin I had, but now I do, because I can count every pore by the molecules of burgeoning sweat. My clit hasn’t been this hard since the year I started HRT. I’m pretty sure the heat radiating from my cunt could keep the engine coil running. Am I aroused? I don’t even know, but I’m ready to be fucked, regardless.What comes out is, “Hmm.”***Wherein Brian and Jimmy record a demonstration of heat sex. It's all very scientific.





	Brian and Jimmy Make a Sex Tape

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this for _[Priority One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445265),_ but I didn't want to switch up POVs and this would've been entirely too much for FREDDIE to handle. It's almost too much for Brian to handle. Fuck if he doesn't have a good time trying, though.
> 
> You don't _have_ to read _Priority One_ to enjoy this, I suppose, but I do recommend it. There will be two "bookend" chapters in the main story regarding this fic, but there's no absolute need to read those, either.
> 
> Betaed by the ever-lovely [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie). <3

Brian adjusts the recording tube, and yet, “I still don’t know why we’re doing this.” Even with Jimmy’s arm wrapped around his thighs, his other hand balancing the ladder, “Do people even  _ do _ this anymore?”

“I think—and this is just a hunch, of course—coitus is still a popular activity.”

“You know what I meant,” says Brian, shoulders drooping, his hand fumbling with the antique screwdriver. “I don’t think people make sex tapes. Because of, you know, the possibility of surveillance.”

Jimmy snorts. “We’re voluntarily handing it over for surveillance.”

“Which is stupid.” The tube smells like engine grease and beeswax. Hardly an aphrodisiac, no matter how much it reminds Brian of Jimmy’s own ambient scent.

“And it’s not like we’re using digital. Pure analog teletape.”

“Yeah,” Brian mutters, trying to wind the tape back into the stream tube without smudging the print dust. “I’d noticed.”

Jimmy kisses Brian’s hip, a slight pressure through the thin weave of his jumpsuit. “It works for the nanibees; it’ll work for my honeybee.”

“You could at least let me use modern tools.”

“Nonsense!” says Jimmy. Brian rocks on the ladder as Jimmy’s hand meets his ass. “Where we’re going, everything’s perfectly calibrated.”

Brian shakes his head, rolls his eyes, can’t help but smile. “Just go get the damn drugs ready.” He leans back as far as he dares and asks, “Do I have it pointed in the right direction?”

“Now that sounds like a personal question,” and there’s Jimmy’s teeth biting the meat of Brian’s ass, and here’s Brian biting his lip, swaying precariously.

“Jimmy,  _ please.” _ He feels drugged already, as needy as the omega he’s going to play for the camera. The thought drags a thrilled shiver up the back of his legs—they’ve never gone this far before. Roleplay, sure, but temp mods? They’re illegal for a reason.

Legality never stopped Jimmy in the past, however, and Brian has no compunction to stop him now.

 

* * *

 

_ Okay, maybe a  _ few _ compunctions, _ Brian concedes as Jimmy folds up his sleeve and palpates the inside of his right elbow. He can smell the anesthetic roller from the tray on the dresser. Medical professionals and supplies have never failed to freak Brian out, but he can’t help the stirring in his groin at the care Jimmy shows.

He should have been an omega, Brian knows. Unfortunately, he never presented and was assigned the wrong secondary gender, because the universe likes making Brian’s life complicated at every turn.

“You could apply for pheromone therapy,” Jimmy has said, though they both know how complicated the dynamic confirmation process can be. Brian tries to remind himself how lucky he is to have been born in a time where hormone therapy requires fewer ports to sail through. He knows his history; the Eugenics Wars hadn’t been kind.

But here, in his and Jimmy’s shared quarters, Brian can present any way he chooses. Currently, that means submitting to whatever weird drug Jimmy’s about to inject into his veins.

Brian hears one of Jimmy’s gloves snap, and then his fingers are under Brian’s chin. “You sure about this?” he asks, frowning. “Seem to have a lot on your mind.”

“Just—” Brian takes a deep breath, attempts to compartmentalize the arousal from the bittersweetness of Jimmy’s complete acceptance. “Just remembering.”

“Remembering?”

“That this might be the closest I ever get.”

Jimmy runs his fingers up Brian’s jaw, then wraps his hand around the back of Brian’s head, pulling their foreheads together. “I’m still not a hundred percent on the side effects.”

“Trust me,” says Brian, “I’m remembering that, too.”

“Well then also remember we can give Lecter less of a show,” Jimmy tells Brian before kissing him, soft and sweet in the way Jimmy usually isn’t, more a consuming fire of a man than a licking flame. He tastes like synthihoney, regardless.

Brian shakes his head, making their lips and noses rub together until they smile against each other’s mouths. “If we’re going to demonstrate heat sex for a sexless robot, might as well do it right.”

“Good!” Jimmy ruffles Brian’s hair before sitting back, the wheels of his chair creaking against the floor. “Lucky for you,” he begins, “I was able to lift an auto-injector from the lab.”

“What? No archaic needles?”

“I mean, I can dig out the case if—”

Brian nearly falls off the bed reaching around the monitor for the tray with the auto-injector. “Nope. No more of your collectibles today.”

Jimmy smirks; it looks good on him. “And here I thought you liked my medical collection.”

“Uh, not r—”

“Especially the mechanical bits.”

“The mechanical...Oh,” he realizes. His eyes widen to the point of discomfort. “You…” He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t remember how words work or if language even exists or was just a concept the Company came up with on a whim. “Fucking machine?”

Jimmy licks his lips. “I made modifications. Now, it’s a knotting machine.”

Brian’s about to forget his own name.

“If we don’t proceed with the utmost scientific professionalism, we have no chance of getting Dr. Lecter to be utterly unprofessional with his pet xenomorph. Which, uh, we should also film  _ that _ when it happens. For science, of course.”

“So mechanical sex, and sex mechanics, but only for science and your wank bank.”

Jimmy ignores him. “Besides, I can only fuck you so much before my dick chafes.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience.” Brian can’t stop laughing, and it’s enough emotional release for him to slump back against the pillows again. “Oh, hang on; that  _ is _ the voice of experience.”

“One time.”

“You had blisters.”

_ “One. Time.” _

“Lecter had to develop a cream for you.”

Jimmy growls quietly as he lines up the auto-injector and punctures Brian’s skin. The laser pinches, like Brian expected, and the delay between the hollow beam entering his vein and Jimmy’s compound flowing through it gives him time to second-guess his life choices.

“My arm’s starting to itch,” he mumbles. Jimmy catches his hand before Brian can start scratching and possibly dislodge the auto-injector. “Is my arm supposed to itch?”

“Will you be mad if I tell you I don’t know?”

Brian scratches at Jimmy’s wrist. “What do you  _ mean _ you don’t know?”

“Ah. That sounds like a yes.” Jimmy pulls his arm away to check his chronometer. “In that case, yes, your arm is definitely supposed to itch.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“If you could wait until the end of the experiment?” He manages to tap the screen with the tip of his nose; across the room, the video tube hisses like a half-constructed airlock. “I’ve never liked the idea of giving up the ghost before meeting a deadline.”

Brian groans and stares at the ceiling. “That—that’s literally the definition of the term deadline. Getting something finished before you fall the fuck over.”

“Do the pixels on this look blurry to you?” asks Jimmy, tapping his finger against the monitor screen. “I tried sharpening the resolution, but I’m just not—” He leans in closer, squints his eyes harder. “I’m just not sure.”

“You need glasses, old man,” and nothing in that sentence should make Brian’s skin prickle. He flicks his eyes over to the auto-injector and watches the last of the clear liquid leave the vial. “You can pull out, by the way.”

Jimmy waggles his eyebrows. “Last night all over again?”

Brian closes his eyes, swears he can feel Jimmy painting his chest and face, can see him rising and falling, riding the strap-on, grinding it against Brian’s clit while Brian hangs onto the rungs of their headboard like a hull-tethered Company grunt.

The rolling chair creaks; Brian smells nothing but honey, has his nose against the inside of Jimmy’s wrist before he realizes he’s turned his head.

“Baby?” Jimmy’s voice eddies in a vacuum. His chuckle echoes as Brian nuzzles his arm. “Feeling good?”

_ Yes, _ Brian wants to say.  _ Yes, I’m feeling orchestrally glorious. I never knew precisely how much skin I had, but now I do, because I can count every pore by the molecules of burgeoning sweat. My clit hasn’t been this hard since the year I started HRT. I’m pretty sure the heat radiating from my cunt could keep the engine coil running. Am I aroused? I don’t even know, but I’m ready to be fucked, regardless. _

What comes out is, “Hmm.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” The bed dips as Jimmy lies down beside him. His fingers play with the slider of the zipper on Brian’s jumpsuit; he snaps his teeth next to Brian’s ear as he yanks the zipper down, then snickers when Brian gasps. “Congratulations on your first heat.”

“Too many clothes.” Brian wiggles, then groans as the crotch of the jumpsuit rubs against him. “Scratchy.”

“Does your arm still itch?”

“Maybe?” He arches into Jimmy’s touch, pushes his chest against Jimmy’s fingertips as he plays lazily with Brian’s nipple through his thin t-shirt. “I’m a little—oh  _ fuck, _ that feels good.”

Jimmy sucks on an earlobe, worries it with his teeth. “I was curious if you’d feel it more this way.” He kisses Brian’s temple and adds, “Always hated how much your chest still bothered you.”

“Yeah,” because it’s strange, to accept the handful of his breasts. Brian finally accepts that he made the right choice, having a reduction instead of a full mastectomy, getting his body as close to a male omega’s as possible. Whatever Jimmy administered to him has brought sensitivity back; his body responds, exactly as it should.

“I’m so happy you’re happy, honeybee.” Jimmy’s smile is more of a toothy grin, an imprint into Brian’s cheek.

Brian opens his mouth to reply only to have it turn into a gasp. The prickling arousal morphs into curling warmth, and his thoughts swim along with it. “Lot more than happy,” he tells him, breathy and fast.

“Ecstatic?”

“Closer.” He grabs Jimmy’s hand to guide it down; his palm is slippery on Jimmy’s lotion-smooth skin. “Need you.”

Jimmy puts up no resistance, letting his arm slide the zipper open as Brian drags Jimmy’s fingers down his ribs and to his stomach. When it hits the jumpsuit’s belt, he swings his right leg over Brian’s thighs, grunting with the effort of pulling his body up to straddle him, leaving his arm in Brian’s grip. Jimmy’s free hand makes quick work of the buckle, and then he’s trailing his fingers up and under Brian’s t-shirt, back to his nipple, pinching and rubbing and tugging.

“Off.” Brian’s vision tunnels, then snaps back to alarming clarity. “Clothes off.”

“Yours?” Jimmy’s laugh is lascivious. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Brian knows he’s being stripped, can feel his body move as Jimmy lifts and rolls him as he needs, but his perception of reality fades in and out with each breath. He thinks about elliptical galaxies, of how terrible it must be for an infinite power like a black hole to be starved of the touch of stars, of how Jimmy’s touch will dissipate, too, as the drug leaves Brian’s system. Addiction seems inevitable.

_ Is this how omegas feel? Is the science of heat akin to the birth of a cluster? Does velocity disperse with each wave of desperate want? _

“Alpha,” he murmurs, lost in his brain and a flood of pheromones, the chill of the room a relief on his burning body.

Jimmy shushes him, crawls back up his body to kiss him, swallowing Brian’s moans. “I have to leave you for a bit,” he says against Brian’s lips. “He needs to see what he’ll be doing to Will by denying him, right?”

The whine Brian makes is  _ real, _ so very  _ real, _ and he feels complete and bereft all at once.

“I won’t let you get too sick.”

_ Promises, promises, _ “Knot me.”

“Not yet.” Jimmy sucks at Brian’s neck, where his scent glands should be, where Jimmy would bite and bond and mate. “I’ll be in the next room. I’ll be watching.” A parting peck. “If you’re good, I’ll get the machine out. Fuck you nice and full.”

_ “Please, _ Alpha.”

He kisses his way back down Brian’s body; mouths at his packer through his boxer briefs; drags his tongue down Brian’s legs, and then he’s off the bed, and out the door.

Brian bites down on the inside of his cheek. He can do this.

...Hypothetically.

**Author's Note:**

> [[about me](https://shiphitsthefan.carrd.co/)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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